Wonder
by Christian Alan
Summary: A cynical photographer comes face to face with a legend.


The call came at four a.m. My head had only hit the pillow an hour earlier, but that comes with the job. I was dressed and out the door in three minutes.

I was at the docks in another ten. The cops hadn't bothered to blockade the area; they didn't need to. The real action was out on the water. I found a good spot and set up my rig. Through my best lens I could see the tanker adrift in the harbor, its deck alight from stern to amidships in the hellish glow of an oil fire. Half a dozen Coast Guard cutters circled it like minnows around a dying whale. Voices buzzed over loudspeakers, calling for the crew to move onto the bow. Then a sudden burst of crazy laughter cut them off, and a ball of flame streaked out from the ship and engulfed the nearest cutter. I winced as I saw the flaming silhouttes of men leaping into the water. The shutter on my camera was firing like a machine gun. I focused back on the tanker just in time to catch a glimpse of the joker on deck.

A burning shape separated itself from the red glow and strode casually to the starboard railing. He was a seven foot tall human inferno, some freak they didn't even have a name for yet, a lab rat escaped from somebody's mad science lab. Supposedly his skin was coated in some kind of living plasma that changed heat into bichemical energy. I wasn't up on all the science, but the basic idea was that fire pumped him up from the proverbial 99 pound weakling into somebody who could bench press a truck. Apparently he could also concentrate the stuff and fire it off like a flamethrower. Add all that to the fact the bastard had apparently gone nuts from having to live as a human fireball and you had the recipe for a major disaster.

"Hey Cole! Any tights show yet?" The voice came from behind me. I knew who it was without needing to look. It belonged to Vince Richards, a tabloid reporter that I bumped into regularly on these kinds of blowups. I spared a glance from my camera as he jogged over. As usual, he was unshaven and looked like he'd been sleeping in the same clothes for a week.

"Not a peep," I answered. "Looks like we're on our own for this one."

"Bad news." He stood by, looking out into the bay. "You got a name for this guy?"

"They don't pay me to name 'em. I just take the pictures."

He chuckled. "I was thinking 'Pyro-Lord,' or maybe 'The Burninator.'"

"I hope they don't pay you to name 'em either."

Out in the harbor, the Coast Guard cutters were busy trying to hose the freak down with their water cannons. It was doing about as much good as pissing on a bonfire.

"I bet they're gonna call out the military on this one," he yawned, sounding disappointed. "You want some coffee?"

"Sure."

I'd been working this gig for three months and was already getting used to it. Vince had been out there tugging capes for more than twenty years. He'd had a stint at being respectable, but the business had slowed down after Big Blue cut and left. Most of the blowups seemed to die out too, which went a long way toward proving the theory that one kind of freak was a magnet to all the other kinds.

I heard the buzz of a prop engine and looked up to see the lights of a fire plane pass overhead. I held down the auto on my camera and looked on as it dumped a crimson load of fire retardant over the tanker. The flames dimmed for a second, then lept right back up.

"They ain't gonna get anywhere like that," Vince said, coming back with two styrofoam cups. "That crude'll keep burning for weeks unless they can get in there and smother it. I bet that's why the bastard chose a tanker in the first place." He handed me one of the cups.

"Thanks." I took a swallow. It was lukewarm and tasted like mud, but it was better than nothing.

Vince pulled out a pair of beat-up binoculars and aimed them out at the harbor. "Anybody left on deck?"

I panned my lens across the bow. "Four, maybe five guys." They weren't in big trouble yet, but the fire was starting to spread in their direction.

"Coast Guard try to pick them up?"

"Yeah," I answered. "But the freak blasts anything that gets too close."

"Freak? Ha. You still calling 'em that?"

"What else should I call them?" There were plenty of names. Meta-humans. Capes. Tights. Superheroes. Supervillains. It was hard to think of them as people, especially since most weren't even human to begin with. They came and went as they pleased, usually leaving a path of destruction behind them for us regular folks to clean up. I couldn't complain though. They gave me a job.

"Eh, I dunno. Call em what you want." Vince walked past me to the edge of the dock and leaned against a post. He looked out for a moment at the waterborne disaster area and shook his head. "It's a shame you missed all the good stuff back in the day. If you'd started this job a few years ago you coulda seen The Man himself in action. Now he was a guy you could respect, not like these punks you see on TV nowadays selling sports drinks instead of actually helping people."

The Man. Superman. The freak of freaks. If any cape was overrated it had to be him. He'd talked a good line, but he hadn't walked it. Now he was gone and we were left to stew in our own juices.

Vince was still reminiscing. "Yeah, boy. He coulda zipped right in there, blown out the fire and dipped that matchhead in the drink faster than you can say 'Goodnight Sally.'"

"I bet," I answered, not really listening. I'd caught sight of a golden flicker in the sky above the harbor. A spotlight from one of the cutters swept past and then back, hovering on a figure that seemed to be slow-falling feet first toward the tanker. I focused in and my heart started hammering. Pale arms extended out to the sides like wings; flowing black hair; golden eagle over her chest. I suddenly felt ten years old. It wasn't often that you see a living legend fall out of the sky.

"Well holee shit," Vince remarked, peering through his binoculars. "Is that who I think it is? C'mon, you're the one with the fancy gear."

"It's the Amazon." I did my best to keep my voice level and not gush like a rookie. I'd never caught one of the big-leaguers in action before, and especially not a six-foot tall half naked warrior woman.

"Hot damn!" Vince exclaimed, doing a quick little dancing shuffle. I'd never seen him this excited. "Hold on to your pants, boy. You're gonna see somethin' now!"

Maybe I was, though I had no clue what a woman in a one-piece bathing suit could do against a living flamethrower. I held down the trigger and watched. She was almost to the tanker, and for moment it seemed like the freak didn't even know she was coming. Then there was a cracking roar and I saw a fireball the size of a Volkswagon shoot up right at her. The Amazon dodged it smoothly and then dropped down on top of the tanker's bridge. She crouched on the edge of the roof, seeming to wait for his next move. It looked like the freak was somewhere right in the middle of the blaze, no doubt soaking up all the heat he could get. I hoped that I wasn't going to see a famous name get torched right before my eyes, even though I could probably retire on the resulting pictures.

With another burst of insane cackling, the freak starting pitching blasts of fire. The Amazon rolled out of the first one's path and came up standing. She ducked the second blast, and leaped from the tower like she was doing a swan dive. She tucked and rolled in midair, landing on the deck just as another blast came hurtling toward her face. With one fluid movement, she reached down and tore a hatch cover from the deck and held it up like a shield. The ball of flame splashed off it, leaving the front scorched and smoking. She moved her shield aside and seemed to regard the inferno for a moment, then, calmly lifting her hand, she held it palm up and curled her fingers in a classic 'bring it' motion. The freak wasn't laughing anymore. He came out from the flames, now about nine feet tall and blazing like an angry star. He bore down on her and hurled a fiery fist downward, looking like he wanted to smash her through the deck. She jumped out of the way, and his blow hammered down on the plating with enough force to buckle it.

I checked my camera, hoping that I had enough memory left. This was getting good.

Fire boy rushed her again. Before he'd taken a full step, she tossed her makeshift shield out in front of her and drove it at him with a solid kick. It slammed against him head on and knocked him backwards like he'd been hit by a bus. At the same time she lifted her right hand, and I saw a shining coil of gold cord arc out as she threw it. The cord caught tight around the freak's neck just as he got back on his feet, and he stumbled forward as she took up the slack. He grabbed the line and pulled back with a yell that sounded like an erupting volcano. The tug of war lasted only a few seconds. Holding the cord in both hands, the Amazon leaped backwards and took to the air, dragging the freak up with her. The spotlights followed them, and about two hundred feet up she began spinning him around like a toy on a string. It looked like some bizarre circus act. She let the momentum build for a few seconds, then with a shake of her arm the cord released him. With a crackling yell, the human fireball arced out into the harbor and hit the water, vanishing in a gout of steam. I watched spellbound as she descended to the bow of the tanker and secured her lariat around two heavy bulwarks on the prow. Then she hovered out in front, slowly hauling the tanker back toward the docks.

"Wow." It was all I could think of to say. The whole fight had lasted less than a minute.

"That, my friend," Vince said softly, "is why they call her Wonder Woman."

The tanker was secured by tugs and the crew was escorted safely off while she fished the freak out of the harbor. The S.C.U. finally arrived just as she lowered him down on the dock about fifty yards away from us, his body barely flickering. He still looked strong, though at least he was back down to normal size. She dropped him face down and stood by as the Special Crime Unit's freak handlers approached.

Vince hurried off toward them. I shouldered my tripod, then took up my camera and followed. A second later we both stopped short as we saw the freak suddenly move, looking like he was about to rise. The S.C.U. grunts likewise froze and brought up their weapons. The Amazon stepped up and planted the heel of a red boot in the middle of his back, pinning him down against the damp concrete.

"Unless you want to go for another swim," I heard her say, "be a good boy and lie still." Her voice was slightly deep, still feminine but with a definite strength to it. I wasn't surprised when the freak stopped struggling. Vince and I got there as the S.C.U. boys were busy zipping him up in a fireproof suit. I hung back a bit and snapped a few more photos.

"Nice work out there," one of the officers was saying. "We're always glad to have somebody stop by and help."

"My pleasure." She replied.

The Amazon turned to leave, her eyes sweeping quickly over where Vince and I stood. I caught a picture of her at that exact moment. There's nothing I can say about her figure that hasn't been said a thousand times already, except that all of it is true. What stood out most to me was her face. Her eyes were ice blue and her gaze was every bit as strong as her voice. There was a thin black streak of oil on her cheek. Her chin was firmly set, her lips drawn tightly together. No dazzle or posturing for her; she was strictly business. With a slight toss of her hair, she took to the sky.

"I never get tired of seeing that," Vince said.

I believed him.


End file.
